


Towers

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: How Dru got hurt in Prague, and how Spike got her out of there.





	Towers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kayt_arminta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kayt_arminta).



> This is for kayt_arminta who requested: Spike/Dru, in Prague, when she got hurt and how they got out?
> 
> I started googling images of Prague for inspiration and ended up kind of fascinated with the Zizkov Television Tower (imagine there are some diacriticals on that), built in 1992, it would have been still new when Spike and Dru were in Prague before showing up in School Hard in 1997. In 2000, an artist installation put giant crawling baby statues all over the building. I suspect Dru would have dug that, and no one would have believed her if she told them what she saw in the future. :)

The hotel was crap – Soviet-era cinderblock smelling of cheap coffee, cheap cigarettes, and cheaper despair – but it was close to everything and the management was shockingly lax in checking up on recently deceased occupants, so Spike gave it three stars. Also there was nothing so completely punk as the destroyed mid-century optimism embodied in its grit-faded chrome and chevron-shaped balconies.

Prague was fucking fabulous. Spike and Drusilla had danced their feet off in a half-dozen nightclubs full of sweat and pounding music and so much fucking life they’d barely remembered to stop and kill a few junkies for supper.

Spike leaned on the chrome railing, admiring the traffic lights below, the smell of city and river that was timeless, underneath the modern exhaust and neon. Like the medieval architecture he could see just beyond the newer rooftops. He blew out a stream of smoke and turned to look in their little nest and wondered idly how exactly they were going to dispose of the room’s rightful occupant. Dru had liked the woman’s scarf, and now she wore it and very little else as she danced around the room, arranging her dollies. “Sun’s about to come up, pet,” he held his arm out.

Drusilla squealed and skipped over to him, let him wrap her up in his arms as they watched the sky lighten to a watery peach. As the first true rays snuck in, Drusilla danced her fingertips along them, hissing with pain but staring with delight. He kissed her burned fingertips and herded her back into the room. “My mad princess,” he said. “Time for bed.”

“It bites,” Drusilla said, and snapped her teeth at him.

“Because you’re so tasty,” Spike said, and kissed her fingertips again.

She rewarded him by biting his ear, sharp and hard. And then she backed up, smiling. He never could resist her with fresh blood on her mouth. He tackled her into the bed.

They moved together so beautifully – dancing, always, sinuous and slow. He wondered sometimes if Dru could read his mind, or if she was mesmerizing him and it only seemed that way because his thoughts were hers. They nipped little bites out of each other – the wrist, the soft flesh of her side, his inner thigh, her ankle, and kissed so the blood could smear sweetly between their tongues.

He wondered how many of the hot, live things they’d writhed with on dance floors were already sacked out and hung-over. “We’re the liveliest ones of all,” he said. “Me and you.”

Drusilla gasped, rolled her head back, and said, “There’s babies crawling on a tower, Spike. Get one for me?”

“Sure love,” he said, and lifted her hips against his own, slipping into her with practiced ease and eliciting another, deeper gasp. There was no more talking after that.

They’d woken up all sticky and filthy with dried blood, and he’d put the body in the tub already with a few buckets of ice to keep her from stinking until they checked out, so Dru suggested they lick each other clean. It was ticklish and turned violent and led to another round of filthier love-making, but ultimately Spike just soaked a towel in the sink and bathed the both of them. “Let’s get some room service,” he suggested. He ordered the most expensive items on the menu, just because.

“Oh! And cakes!” Drusilla said, wrapping herself around him and blowing a kiss at the phone.

“Yes, and cakes,” Spike said. “No, I don’t care what kind. One of each. And there’d better be a rose on the tray or no tip.”

Freshly full of the best room-service, being the bell hop who delivered it, whom they left with the other corpse in the bath, Spike and Drusilla dressed to the nines, packed their bags, and left. Spike’s plan was to scope out new lodgings for the next day, and then hit the nightclubs again, but Drusilla kept pulling away and staring up.

“What is it?” Spike asked in a tense voice, having been on the trail of a gent who smelled like pure money. 

“There’s babies crawling on the tower,” Drusilla said, and pointed.

An unsightly futuristic tower stuck up like a sore thumb from the clustered red roofs and baroque architecture.

“You are joking. Love, there’s a thousand more interesting things to see than that. Anyway we have to find a nice rich person with a nearby flat so we can set our bags down!”

She turned to him with her bottom lip full out and her eyes wide. 

He supposed it had been a while since she’d led him on a truly daft adventure, and what was the fun of life without that?

“All right. Tell you what, let’s put these bags in the train station, yeah? It’s just a block that way. Then we can circle back for them when – if this turns out to be a wild goose chase.”

Drusilla clapped. “Pluck the goose and feed it its feathers!”

“Er, right. Sure.” 

Spike’s mood improved after they were in the elevator going up the Zizkov Television Tower – that was the name of the Jetsons-esque building. The two bus connections to get there hadn’t been at the top of his ‘to do’ list for the night, no, but he loved playing tourist, buying tickets for ferries or gondolas with his princess. She hung on his arm as the elevator zoomed up to the observation “pod” near the top of the tower. It smelled of new carpet and children’s fingerprints – no wonder Dru loved it.

The observation deck was pretty, all rounded corners. Spike preferred his futurism disheveled, but he couldn’t knock the view. He tried to see if he could find their hotel. Perhaps there were police cars around it already?

Drusilla slipped from his side and walked slowly along the window, a frown creasing her brow as she tried to look straight down at the tower beneath them. “I don’t see the babies,” she said.

“That’s all right, love – you know they’re there.”

She scratched the glass with one fingernail, a long downward stroke, and then a crossing one. Spike admired the soft glow of city night on her cheek.

Drusilla then balled her fist, drew it back and punched the etched cross. A million cracks spidered out from the impact, clouding the thick safety glass.

Spike smiled at the destruction. The few others in the observation room began to point and stare. He sauntered over. “Let me help you with that,” he said, and gave the window a roundhouse kick.

The room filled with wind. Paper cups and pamphlets whirled about, freed from their hiding places as the safety glass gave way and then fell. Spike stepped into the roar, grinning out at the city below. “Yes, love, this is much better.”

Drusilla draped around him, her filmy dress flying like a flag. She spun around and reached out into the void.

Spike really hadn’t expected her to step right out into the air like that.

He grasped for her dress, but the fabric tore, leaving him holding a wisp of material while Drusilla fell, her arms out wide, looking back up at him with a smile.

“Balls!” Spike ran to the center of the building. There was no clear stairwell. He had to take the elevator. Someone in the panic ran in front of him. Spike punched the man and stepped over his body.

The elevator was a high-speed one, but it still felt like bloody ages. Not nearly as fast as Drusilla’s descent.

A crowd was gathered in the grassy park. More people were coming by the moment. Spike shoved his way through. Drusilla lay like a broken doll on a gentle upslope, white limbs laying randomly. Spike ran to her and gathered her in his arms. “Pet.” He felt the back of her head.

Her eyelids quivered, and then opened. “Where have the babies gone?”

Her right arm raised, reaching for the tower. Behind Spike, someone shouted, “She’s alive!”

Spike felt along her bones, checking for damage, sliding the too-flimsy silk guaze along her arms. 

Drusilla lightly got to her feet. Spike marveled a moment. Though she walked like a marionette, she was walking. She’d always been so strong. Spike quickly gathered her up in his arms.

Their audience had grown. Hands reached out and grabbed as Spike carried Drusilla away through the crowd. “You can’t fly, petal. You scared me witless.”

Someone must have touched a sore spot on Drusilla’s arm, because she turned in his grasp and snarled at the person, fangs full out.

That was when Spike decided that running was their best option.

Drusilla’s sudden strength at the base of the tower might have been a fluke, because when the mob cornered them in the train station she could barely hold herself up against the tin lockers as Spike fought them off. Then the police came, with their bullets and bullhorns, and Drusilla was frightened, shrieking.

It was all he could do to get out of there with one suitcase, which turned out to be full of Drusilla’s dolls.

They ended up on a freight train just before dawn, bleeding and exhausted. Drusilla nuzzled against Spike’s shoulder in the back of a car that had once held pigs and was now returning empty from whence it had come. Spike spread his coat over them, using a hook of dubious purpose and some splintered wood to hold it steady. The walls of the car were perforated with holes. He didn’t want to take chances.

It stank, and it rattled, but at least they were safely on their way.

Spike watched the sun rise through the ventilation holes. “Why did you do it, love? We were having such a lovely time.”

“They were our children, Spike. The ones we’ll never have.” She shifted against him. “If we could have had a baby, maybe it would keep us together.”

Spike kissed her forehead. “You’re daft, sweetpea. Nothing will ever separate us."

Drusilla stared sightlessly forward. “I can’t see it,” she said. “I normally see things so clearly.”

Together physically, but apart in their thoughts, they rode on into the daylight, westward to a future unseen.


End file.
